


All the Little Things

by Ferrenbach



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Hospitals, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Injury, Language, Phase One (Gorillaz)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-12 22:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18455957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ferrenbach/pseuds/Ferrenbach
Summary: Russel comes back from a visit overseas to find Murdoc drunk, 2-D sick, and Noodle only vaguely supervised, the latter being a particular point of contention. The band hasn't even played together publicly yet, and he's stuck with clean-up duty, although it does give him time to sit back and make observations.





	All the Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as... something of some sort, and then meandered about. It was initially going to have a second part, but the idea for the second part mutated into something that will work better in a different format, so this scene was left on its own. It's a complete scene, but more a character sketch than a narrative.

“You seen D?”

Murdoc looked up at Russel, bleary eyed, his features set in his typical hangover expression. It was an expression Russel had become familiar with over the past day or so as Murdoc seemed perpetually hungover. That or perpetually drunk and on the verge of hungover.

From the sound of it, he had been in this state for quite some time, which caused Russel more than a little worry. He had only just returned from a jaunt to New York to reassure family members of his ongoing health and the thought that he might have left someone as young as Noodle alone with someone in a constant state of inebriation made his blood run cold. It was possible that 2-D had kept his head well enough to keep an eye on the girl, but, knowing 2-D’s habits, Russel did not hold much hope.

It did not help that he had not seen 2-D around since he had returned.

“Why assume I know the location of that dullard?” Murdoc growled, his breath a funk of alcohol and stale cigarettes. “The stupid git can’t tell right from left. Maybe he fell off the back garden and impaled himself on a dildo. Noodle’s always following him around like a bloody duckling, ask _her_ where he’s gone.”

“She doesn’t know,” Russel informed him. “When I walked in, she was sitting in a stained skirt, eating dry cereal from the box. Took me ages to find her something clean to wear. As far as I can make out, she’s been doing this for a couple of days, ‘cause 2-D didn’t make her breakfast and you tried to give her a beer as a substitute.”

“You can get all required nutrients from a proper lager,” Murdoc countered.

“That’s not the point. The point is she’s a kid. You can’t give a kid beer for breakfast.” Russel sighed. “You know, I don’t put much stock in you _or_ D outside of the recording booth, but I figured the two of you could get it together for Noodle.”

“Well, I’m always pleased to live up to someone’s disappointments,” Murdoc said. “I didn’t come up here to dally with you, just refresh my stock. If you want to pick a fight, take it somewhere else. No shortage of demons around here.”

Russel was tempted to argue, or at least to punch Murdoc’s lights out, but a girlish squeal from elsewhere in the studio curtailed that thought. He rushed immediately toward the source of the sound, irritated that Murdoc did not follow. He was relieved to find Noodle safe and in good health, but tugging frantically on 2-D’s shirt, trying simultaneously to pull him to his feet and crawl into his lap.

2-D was a mess, crumpled in a heap on the floor in a position that suggested he had tried to crouch down and address Noodle, only to overbalance, possibly due to the girl’s overwhelming concern as she pulled on his shirt.

It was no wonder. Dried blood stained his clothes, a spattering of it smearing his face, highlighting a bruise on his jaw.

Russel swore under his breath and swooped in to rescue the singer, but 2-D flinched away from him. He patted Noodle’s hair distractedly even as he tried to brush her away, or at least keep her away from his left shoulder. Russel changed tactics and scooped Noodle up in spite of her protests, reassuring her that they would help 2-D, but she had to step away in case he was hurt. Once she was safely out of the way, 2-D began the laborious process of climbing to his feet, relying mostly on his right arm. Russel set Noodle aside, asking her to be good, and offered 2-D a hand, which he clung to gratefully.

His skin was on fire.

“What the Hell, D?” Russel said, pulling 2-D in to press a hand against his forehead, nearly toppling him in the process. Russel knew most fevers could not be properly diagnosed by touch, but there was no mistaking the heat of 2-D’s skin, no nuance that could suggest anything else, no question whatsoever. “You need a doctor, man. Now.”

2-D’s face crumpled in what Russel first thought was fear, but soon realized was relief as 2-D gripped him desperately, tears trickling from his eyes. His left hand fluttered from his mouth, to the bruises on his face, to his ear, to his throat with as little shoulder movement as possible and a brief, but brutal image flickered through Russel’s mind. 2-D knew he needed a doctor, knew it and had asked Murdoc to bring him because he couldn’t see to drive, had asked Murdoc in spite of his fear of doctors and hospitals because he knew the issue was that serious, and Murdoc, drunk off his ass on his current wild bender, had beaten the shit out of him for it.

2-D coughed then, tight and restrained, wincing and biting his lip.

“Open your mouth, D,” Russel instructed as a sneaking suspicion stole over him. “I need to check your throat.”

2-D did so reluctantly and Russel could understand why. The spread of infection was so blatantly visible it made Russel want to cry in sympathy. No wonder 2-D was burning up.

“Fucking Hell, Murdoc,” Russel sighed. He had a million questions regarding what had gone down over the past few days, but none so pressing they could not wait. Getting 2-D to a hospital was top priority, or nearly so. Russel felt he could spare a minute or two to get the kid cleaned up.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, aight? We’re gonna go into the bathroom and get you washed up. I’m guessing your nose had a bit of a gusher after Murdoc popped you one.” 2-D nodded, head bowed. “So we’ll give you a wash, I’ll run and grab you a clean shirt while you wait here, and then I’ll drive you out to the hospital. That all right with you?”

2-D cringed a little at “hospital”, but nodded all the same. Even so…

“Um…” he murmured hoarsely and gestured toward the public bathroom stalls. Russel could only imagine how much it hurt to speak. “I… I need the toilet first.”

Russel realized that Noodle must have ambushed him on the way there.

“That’s fine,” Russel told him. “I’ll grab some clothes while you do that, then the clean up, then we’re out of here. That work?”

2-D nodded, his entire demeanour shy and self-effacing. Russel thought he might break Murdoc’s nose again, just on principal.

Russel spotted 2-D, who seemed weak and unsteady, until he was safely in the bathroom, and then motioned to Noodle.

“Come on, baby girl. We’re gonna go find some clean clothes for D.”

Noodle did not seem keen on the prospect of leaving 2-D alone in the bathroom, but she followed Russel anyway, quickly gathering up underwear, socks, jeans, and a shirt from what she determined to be the “clean” pile of clothing. All the laundry stacks looked the same to Russel, but Noodle seemed to have refined tastes compared to the rest of the band, so he left her to it. It had only been Russel’s intention to grab a shirt, but he changed his mind in light of Noodle’s determination. Considering how bad 2-D looked, a full change of clothing would probably be a comfort.

By the time they returned to the bathroom, 2-D had washed his hands and was working on his face, leaning in close to the mirror to dab at it with a damp paper towel. Russel sent Noodle for a flannel and helped 2-D ease off his shirt, taking care not to jostle his shoulder. In spite of this, 2-D winced as he lifted his arm enough to get the garment off.

Bruises patterned 2-D’s chest, wrapping around to his back. As far as Russel could tell, he had turned away to protect himself, but it hadn’t protected him from a couple of parting shots. He stank, too. Not badly, but the smell of sweat was noticeable now that the blood on his shirt no longer provided a distraction. His hair looked greasy and unwashed.

Russel couldn’t blame him for his lack of hygiene. Weakened by infection and in pain, a shower would have been both dangerous and agonizing. There wasn’t much they could do about 2-D’s hair, not if they were going to get to the hospital in good time, but a little cleaning could be managed in the interest of good health.

Russel filled a sink with water and took the flannel from Noodle when she returned. He waved away 2-D’s attempts to take it from him.

“Save your voice,” Russel told him when he tried to protest. “Let me take care of it. You look like you’re hurting pretty bad there, D.”

“Cold…” 2-D complained, little more than a whisper, as Russel cleaned his face and sponge-bathed him from neck to waist.

The water was warm enough and the bathroom about average, but 2-D shivered anyway. Russel didn’t question it, but sent Noodle for a blanket. It would be more comforting than a jacket, especially if they were at the hospital for a while, and it would get her out of the room long enough for 2-D to finish changing.

Resigned to the reality of nurse duty, Russel helped 2-D finish washing and changing his clothes, leaving the soiled items in a heap on the floor for later collection. 2-D managed most of it himself, although he needed Russel’s help for balance and to re-tie his shoes. Once Noodle returned with the blanket, Russel draped it around 2-D’s shoulders and instructed Noodle to get her own coat and shoes on. He would have preferred to leave her at the studio – a hospital was no place for a little girl who did not need one – but he didn’t dare entrust her to Murdoc in his current state.

“You got your I.D.?” Russel asked 2-D, who touched the pocket to which he had transferred his wallet. “Then we’re good to go. Noodle, can you fill a couple of water bottles while I help 2-D into the car? You can get yourself a snack if you want. We might be a little while.”

“Fish?” Noodle said. She limited herself to short phrases in English, understanding it better than she spoke it.

“Yeah, Goldfish are good,” Russel agreed. “Get some juice boxes, too.

Russel led 2-D down to the carpark, giving the winnebago a wide berth. He didn’t know if Murdoc was inside or wandering around the studio, but he had no intention of interacting with the bastard unless he absolutely needed to.

2-D clung to his arm with one hand, fingers playing over his bicep like spiders as he lost and regained his grip, and clutched the blanket with the other. He moved awkwardly, as though his joints hurt, and trembled, a shaking distinct from his periodic surges of shivering. Fear, Russel assumed. In spite of his mother being a nurse, hospitals had brought nothing good to 2-D’s life.

Not entirely true, Russel thought. They had brought him medical care when he most needed it. But he could see the situation from 2-D’s perspective as well. Seldom in a state to remember going in, coming out always meant loss. Even if the situation would have been worse without medical intervention, the association existed and fears were seldom logical or reasonable.

Russel murmured reassuring words as he helped 2-D get settled in the front seat, ensuring he was buckled in. By the time he was finished, Noodle had returned and was climbing into the back seat with a pink backpack in tow.

“Thanks, Noodle. You’ve been a big help,” Russel told her as Noodle beamed at him. The praise was deserved, but he also hoped the thought of being indispensable would make up for the long wait at the hospital. “You gonna keep giving me a hand with D?”

“Yeah!” Noodle told him and rattled something off in Japanese. Russel did not have a full grasp of the language, but recognized words like “water” and “juice” from ongoing interactions and assumed she was giving him an itemized list of what she had brought. She named more items than he had requested, but he could identify the essentials and that was what mattered.

The trip to the hospital soon lapsed into relative silence, Noodle humming to herself in the back seat, and 2-D understandably quiet. Russel talked at him a while to keep him calm and reassure him, but they had only time enough to reach the main road before 2-D began nodding off. Not surprising, Russel thought. Infection took a lot out of a person, even without the added brutality of a beating.

_You’d think Murdoc’d be more concerned about his singer’s throat._

Almost a thought, but not quite. Russel heard the voice as clearly as he would hear a living speaker, but the sound seemed to come from just inside his ear rather than outside of it.

Figured you were in hiding, Russel said, caging the reply within his thoughts. Sometimes he answered the voice out loud, but he preferred to keep his conversations silent when in the presence of others.

 _Not hiding,_ Del explained. _You just seemed to be handling some shit that didn’t need another distraction. Go ahead and talk, man. The kid’s out and Noodle won’t mind._

“Funny you don’t call Noodle ‘the kid’,” Russel replied and was met with an excited squeal from the back seat.

“Hi, Del!” Noodle said.

_Tell her ‘hi’ from me. I don’t wanna come out right now with you drivin’ and all._

“Del says ‘hi’ back,” Russel told her dutifully. 

_And yeah, he’s a kid. You think he’s ever been out on on his own? Ever had to find a place to live? Pay his rent? Get a real damned job? You bet your ass he hasn’t. You’re a slob half the time, but you got your shit together. Not him, even though he’s an adult like you and Murdoc. Among you three, he’s the kid._

“Hardly his fault,” Russel began. “Murdoc—“

_Never said it was. Don’t make it less true. Hell, you call him ‘kid’ yourself._

“True enough,” Russel admitted and it _was_ true, although he’d never thought much about it. He called Noodle “kid” too, when he wasn’t calling her “baby girl”. “Short stuff” if he was in a teasing mood.

He supposed Del was right to an extent. 2-D was an adult in shape and habits, but he’d come from his parents’ care into Murdoc’s care with no pause in between. Not even any real time to adapt to the fact that the transition happened over a car accident. So little time to process it, in fact, that he felt some obligation toward Murdoc for waking him from a coma in spite of knowing that Murdoc was the one who put him there in the first place.

The one who put him there in the first place and the one who frequently hit him for reasons as insignificant as being in Murdoc’s line of sight at the wrong moment. By Del’s definition, Russel could understand if a fear of making it on his own – on top of the needless obligation he already felt – kept 2-D from leaving Kong Studios and Murdoc’s abusive hold, but he had a family that would happily take him back.

Russel glanced at 2-D’s bruised face – frailer and younger looking now that he was sleeping – and supposed there could be a host of psychological reasons with which he was not familiar that could contribute to such a decision, but he didn’t see the sense in it. Not when other options presented themselves.

Well, there was no sense in worrying it about now. The most immediate concern was getting 2-D to a doctor before his infection got any worse or spread any further. Unless it had begun elsewhere and spread to the throat. If so, that did not bode well for a complete recovery.

_I know Murdoc doesn’t care about anyone, but you’d think he’d care about his investment._

“If Murdoc cares, it won’t be until after the fact, when it’s too late to do any damned good,” Russel said. “Hell, D might be better off if his voice is ruined. Then Muds’d send him packing and he might live a little longer.”

“Nooooo,” Noodle protested from the back seat, high and thin. “ _Toochi_ sings!”

Russel sighed. “See what you got me doin’, man? You got me freakin’ out little kids. 2-D’s gonna be fine, baby girl,” he tossed back to Noodle whose alarm he could see plainly in the rear-view mirror. “The doctor will take care of him.”

_Here’s hoping. And you’d better get a story ready. They’re gonna have questions._

“Story’s basic: I was out of town and our flatmate beat the shit out of him.”

 _Yeah… You might wanna be ready to elaborate on that one,_ Del said. _What about Noodle?_

“What about her?”

_Big black dude dragging a beat-up, neglected, junkie of a white kid around with a parentless Japanese girl in tow? You think that’s not gonna set off some alarm bells?_

“Fuck,” Russel said.

“Swear jar!” Noodle crowed gleefully. The band had made a pact to clean up their language around her and fed a quarter into a jar for every lapse. As the sole recipient of the proceeds, Noodle was making a killing on their poor self-control.

“Remind me when we get home, aight?” Russel told her, and then sighed. “Okay, she’s the kid of family friends who’re out of the country. I’m house sitting _and_ babysitting. Came back to get some shit, found D in a state. Couldn’t very well leave her alone, so I took her with us.”

_Doable. Make sure 2-D’s in on it when you get to the hospital._

“Already there, man. Already there,” Russel said. “Do me a favour and lay low if anyone else is around. I’d appreciate your company tonight, but I’m tired as Hell and I don’t know that I can focus on two conversations at once.”

 _My thoughts exactly._ Del’s words ran through Russel’s mind like warm honey. _I’ll be here, though. I’m listening. If shit gets rough, let me know. Answers, support, whatever… I got it._

“Thanks, man,” Russel said, turning into the hospital and looking for a place to park. He hated the thought of making 2-D walk, but he couldn’t drop him off at the door alone, not weak and disoriented as he was. And he couldn’t leave Noodle with him either. While she was certainly a responsible little girl, it was irresponsible to leave her alone on the pavement, especially with someone sick to look after.

“Okay, Noodle,” Russel said, pulling into a stall and catching the girl’s eye in the rear-view mirror. “We’re going to play a game of ‘let’s pretend’. Is that all right with you?”

Noodle nodded solemnly. As a girl of questionable citizenship, she was very adept at “let’s pretend”.

“If anyone asks you, your mum and dad are on a trip. They’re not in England. I’m babysitting you and watching your house. Got it?”

“Got it!” Noodle mimicked.

“Good girl. Make sure 2-D remembers too, aight?”

She nodded and started to unfasten her seatbelt.

Russel left 2-D dozing until he could walk around to the passenger side and unhook the seatbelt. Then he shook 2-D gently until he responded with a small groan and another tight, restrained cough that suddenly escalated into a wild choking fit as 2-D sat bolt-upright, clutching at his throat. It died out as quickly as it had begun, leaving 2-D bent over, whimpering in pain.

“You all right there, D?” Russel murmured, gingerly placing a hand on 2-D’s bruise-covered back. He resisted the urge to rub it in case he made things worse. “I hate to make you walk, but I can’t carry you, man. You think you can make it?”

For a moment, Russel wasn’t sure 2-D would be able to answer, much less stand, but Noodle, alarmed and curious, stuck her head under Russel’s arm and put a hand on 2-D’s knee.

“Okay?” she said with such soft, childish concern, that 2-D could not help but respond, touching her head to stroke her hair and offering her a weak and watery smile.

“Yeah…” he managed, and then coughed again lightly. “I’s a’right.”

“Save your voice unless you really need it,” Russel advised him. “I’ll try to stick to easy questions so you can nod yes or no. Let me do any other talking. To avoid problems, we’re going with the story that I’m housesitting for friends and babysitting Noodle, who’s their daughter. That work for you?”

2-D nodded, hands still resting on his chest, very near to his throat. Russel held a hand out to him, helped him out of the vehicle, and re-settled the blanket around his shoulders.

“You gonna make it?” he said and 2-D nodded, refusing to meet his eyes, but clinging to his arm with determination.

2-D managed the walk well enough, able to keep up although he stumbled sleepily more than once. Russel parked him in the first chair he could find within sight of the intake counter and grabbed a number. The wait was shorter than expected, but when their number was called and Russel stood, the nurse approached them and asked to speak with 2-D alone.

“He’s got a pretty serious throat infection. It hurts him to talk,” Russel told her. “We’re flatmates. I can answer anything that might be too rough on him.”

“I will bear that in mind,” the nurse told him, “but I need to speak with him alone. It’s just a formality.” She eyed Noodle. “Is this little girl with you?”

“I’m babysitting her,” Russel explained, suspicion dawning. “Look, if this is about the bruises on his face, I didn’t beat him.”

“Nevertheless, we will need to speak with him alone,” the nurse reiterated.

“No. Toochi’s sick,” Noodle said and made three little coughs into her hand for emphasis.

“Would you like to come with me and help him?” the nurse asked her and Russel felt she was itching for an excuse to get Noodle alone or, at the very least, away from him.

“I thought you needed to speak to my friend alone,” Russel said patiently.

“It’s a privacy protocol,” the nurse replied, cool as you please. “It will not be violated by the presence of a minor.”

“Except that the minor’s in _my_ care, not his,” Russel pointed out. “And kids repeat every damned thing they hear.”

“Every damn thing!” Noodle echoed with timing so perfect that Russel suspected she had done it on purpose.

“Even so—“

“And did you bother to ask the patient what he would prefer?” Russel continued. 2-D looked frantic and stressed on top of his physical discomforts and Russel felt bad for dragging him into the argument, but the fact remained that he was the patient and if the presence of another made him feel better, it should be permitted.

“Sir, I will need to speak with you alone for a moment,” the nurse told 2-D, who fiddled anxiously with the edge of his blanket. “The child may come if she is with you, or she can stay in the waiting room.”

2-D cast Russel a nervous glance, not wanting to go alone, but afraid or downright incapable of insisting otherwise.

“Go on if it’s easier,” Russel told him. “Don’t let the paper pushers turn this into a bigger deal than it needs to be. I’ll be right here when you’re done, aight?”

2-D nodded, still uncertain, but grateful to have had the decision made for him, and fell in behind the nurse.

“Why don’t you go and keep an eye on him?” Russel suggested to Noodle, who nodded grimly and ran to catch up. 2-D noticed her and freed one hand from his blanket to give her a pat on the head that she exploited to latch on to him. They disappeared into the intake booth and Russel sighed.

_You could have put up a fight._

No point and D doesn’t need that right now, Russel replied, keeping the response in his head. The faster he’s sorted out, the faster he gets some kind of treatment, the faster we can all go home and beat the shit out of Murdoc.

 _And you think_ that’ll _do any good?_

It’ll make me feel better.

_No, it won’t._

No, it wouldn’t, Russel knew, but the thought of punching Murdoc made him feel as though he were contributing to the fucked up dynamic of Kong Studios in some kind of positive, meaningful way, so he enjoyed the fantasy until it was shattered by insistent seven-year-old bellowing.

“NO! Toochi’s sick!” Noodle hollered, her words interspersed with complicated streams of Japanese. “Shh!”

The door to the intake booth slammed open.

“Russu, gitcher ass’ere now!” Noodle ordered.

 _I wonder where she learned that?_ Del commented, enveloped in a funk of smug.

Shut it, Russel thought at him.

“That’s a quarter for the swear jar,” Russel told her, passing her as he squeezed into the already crowded room. She merely glared at him, hands on her hips. “What seems to be the problem here?”

“I need the patient to provide personal information, but the young lady is intent on shushing him every time he opens his mouth,” the nurse said wearily.

“Yeah,” 2-D croaked and Noodle immediately put a finger to her lips.

“Shhh,” she said, leaning in toward 2-D. “Sick.”

“Yeah,” Russel confirmed. “Like I said, his throat’s a wreck. It would be easier on both of you if you could ask him yes or no questions and either get him to write down anything complicated or, you know, get someone to answer on his behalf and have him confirm whether he agrees with the statement.”

“For reasons of privacy, we prefer to speak with the patient alone unless they are a minor or suffer a disability that requires assistance,” the nurse repeated and Russel could not be certain whether the protocol was that strict or she was trying to cover her own ass. “Given that the patient appears unable to answer of his own accord, you may remain to assist if he agrees.”

2-D nodded emphatically and the nurse inclined her head in weary acceptance. There was only one chair, so, rather than disrupt proceedings further, Russel hovered around behind 2-D, placing a hand on his right shoulder when he attempted to stand and offer his seat. The act was unnecessary, but made Russel smile none the less. As crass as 2-D could be at times, there was a fundamental politeness bred into him that Russel could not fault.

He prompted 2-D to take out his identification and rattled off any information the nurse requested, pausing to allow time for 2-D to confirm it with a nod of the head. Name, preferred name, contact information, medical history including any regular pharmaceuticals, irregular pharmaceuticals, alcohol, nicotine, recent sexcapades – for which Noodle was asked to cover her ears – the stability of his hyphema, and the source of his current injuries.

“Well, I haven’t been home to say for sure,” Russel said, “but we share a place with this other guy who’s… not the most patient. I stopped by to pick something up and—“

“Fight,” 2-D whispered. Noodle perked up, incensed, but Russel put a hand on her head, signalling that she should let 2-D speak. “We… We fought. Hit him too.”

Liar, Russel thought, but if that was the narrative 2-D wanted to give, that was his choice.

“They might have exchanged blows, but he did something to his left shoulder on top of the bruises,” Russel said, rather than contradict him. “It should probably be looked at. He had a cold when I left to house sit—“ Here, 2-D nodded in agreement. “—but I don’t know if that’s the cause of his sore throat or not. It looks like a pretty severe infection to me.”

“That will be something for the doctor to decide,” the nurse said, preparing the forms. “Please have a seat in the waiting room until your friend’s name is called.”

Russel brought 2-D back to the waiting room to settle in for the wait. There were fewer patients than he expected and they were able to find a row of seats just for themselves, but Russel did not doubt the wait would be a long one all the same. Regardless of how terrible he felt, 2-D’s injuries were not life-threatening and they would have to give way to any condition deemed more serious by the intake nurses.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, Russel supposed, depending on one’s point of view – 2-D had admitted to taking his regular pain killers during the intake interview. Russel supposed that, no matter how much it hurt to swallow, withdrawal was worse, not to mention the pains they were meant to suppress in the first place. This meant he was not as sore or as antsy as he might have otherwise been and would better tolerate the wait.

 _Hell of a thing,_ Del said as 2-D half-zoned out, pulling the blanket tight around him.

What’s that? Russel prompted.

_Beating the shit out of the kid like that. I mean, if Murdoc didn’t want to bring him to the hospital, barking at him would have driven him into hiding easily enough._

Yeah, well… Murdoc’s Murdoc.

_And you’re gonna leave it at that?_

What do you want me to do? Talk to him? I’ve done that. Punched him too, which you don’t seem too keen on. Neither works.

_He’s old enough to know better._

But not be better. And D’s old enough to stand up for himself.

Del was strangely silent at that, but not in a way that indicated Russel had the upper hand. He felt like the embodiment of a sigh, and Russel supposed he understood where Del was coming from. The thought had been a natural counter for someone who could leave no point of view unchallenged. In actual fact, for all that 2-D should, theoretically, be able to protect himself, he had come under Murdoc’s influence while in a vulnerable state and Russel had no doubt that Murdoc had done something in that time to brand 2-D as his own. It was imprinted so deeply that 2-D probably thought it a part of him. He no more resist Murdoc than he could rip out a piece of his own soul.

It took Russel a moment to realize that 2-D was trying to signal him, hesitantly touching his arm from under the blanket he kept wrapped around his shoulders.

“What’s the matter?” Russel said.

“You—“ 2-D began, and then stopped to suppress a cough. “You can go. Just needed—”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Russel interrupted before he could tear his throat up further.

2-D pointed at Noodle, who sat on Russel’s other side, humming to herself as she played games on a handheld device.

“She’s fine,” Russel told him, although 2-D’s concern for Noodle raised his opinion of the kid. “She’s a big girl. She can amuse herself. And she makes a good runner if we need her. If it gets really late, I’ll take her home,” he added when 2-D looked about to interrupt, “but I think we’ll be fine. She’ll just worry about you if we leave you here.”

2-D hid his flattered smile by clutching the blanket in both hands and drawing it up to cover his lower face, making him look more childish than ever. Then he dropped his hands into his lap and reassumed the appearance of a bedraggled and slightly stoned college boy.

They sat in silence for a while, Russel not having very much to say and 2-D in no condition to be much of a conversationalist. Noodle simply played her game and, in time, Russel’s attention drifted over her shoulder to watch as she guided her sprite across the screen. She sat cross-legged on the seat, a travel bowl of Goldfish crackers safely ensconced between her knees, and she snatched one every now and then when she felt she could afford to drop one hand from the controls. He became so engrossed in her progress, that it took him a little while to notice 2-D becoming fidgety.

Russel felt somewhat guilty for his lack of attention, especially of someone feeling ill, but his guilt shifted to curiosity when he realized that 2-D was not fidgeting because he was bored. He twitched and shifted because he was interested. He looked rather like a cat, his core fixed in place even as he quivered with every sense on high alert. He had pulled one edge of the blanket back up to his face, covering his mouth where he bit the knuckle of his thumb, a faint blush creeping slowly into his cheeks.

Then Russel saw the nurse.

She looked all right, he supposed. Shapely enough, with only a little more weight than conventional beauty standards allowed, nice hair, a decent enough face. She was by no means ugly, nor was she especially beautiful. She was plain, through and through: oval face, unremarkable features, hair an average shade of brown and eyes no doubt to match. Medium height, medium build, medium colour. Middle of the road.

Russel wondered what the Hell 2-D could possibly see in her.

 _She’s got some booty,_ Del offered.

It ain’t all that, Russel assured him.

_Maybe not, but she’s got some sway._

Russel had to admit that this was true. Although otherwise unremarkable, the woman did have some hip action.

 _You’re just jealous ‘cause D don’t need intellectual stimulation to get off,_ Del informed him, his thoughts bright and amused. _He gets all fired up over a little locomotion. Maybe some hair falling just the right way. She’s got kind eyes, nice and wide, even with her no-make-up make-up. He probably falls in love a hundred times a day._

Is that what they’re calling it now?

 _Cynic._ Russel could almost hear Del’s laughter. His real laughter, rich and alive. _His fantasies are physical, but you can tell it’s more than that. He’s hot and bothered_ and _head over heels in puppy love. You’d need an hour’s conversation just to decide if she was worth taking out for another hour’s worth._

I get turned on, Russel thought at him, wondering why it was suddenly important to argue the point.

 _Yeah, but your libido moves like an iceberg._ Del’s essence dropped its teasing aura and grew serious. _You take your time. Maybe too much time. You wait too long. But what you’ve got runs deep. It’s solid, man. It just takes a fucking dog’s age to arrive._

Better than being flighty.

 _Jealous,_ Del confirmed. _Let him look. He’s not hittin’ on her. He’s not even staring her down. If it makes the wait a little easier, let him dream._

Russel tried to turn his mind back to Noodle’s game and put 2-D’s probable fantasies out his mind, but his thoughts occasionally drifted back to the nurse and how anyone could find another appealing based solely on their looks without a hint of personality to go by. It smacked of incomplete equations and half-finished puzzles, settling for the merest sketch of a human being when a full work of art could be had with just a little more effort.

Eventually the nurse went off-duty or else was sent to a different part of the hospital and 2-D stilled considerably. He seemed on the verge of dozing off, even stifling a yawn, before the shifting and fidgeting began anew. He did not seem to be tracking a new nurse and his movements were of a different quality, leaning back as if to settle in for a nap, and then stretching and slumping forward, almost rocking in slow motion. Russel wondered what had gotten into him this time.

 _What do you think?_ Del prompted.

2-D was in pain, Russel realized.

Well, he was usually in some sort of pain, which was why he spent most of his time doped up. Drugs would not mask everything, however, and certainly not forever. Moreover, 2-D was dealing with both recent injuries and an unwillingness or inability to swallow as many pills as he might otherwise wish. Specifically, he was exhausted from illness and possibly stress and could not get comfortable enough to take a nap. The moulded seats were not designed for comfort. They had little padding and 2-D’s back was black and blue with bruises.

“Lie down, D,” Russel heard himself say even before the idea cleared his thoughts. When 2-D looked startled and uncertain, he elaborated. “Your right side’s not too bad. If you can manage to stretch out across the seats, lie down on your right side. I don’t have a pillow, but you can put your head on my leg. Just don’t drool,” he added when 2-D’s expression crumpled into obvious relief and gratitude.

It took 2-D a little while to reposition himself. Fortunately, having a free row to work with, he was able to stretch out across the seats with only a little knee-bending, his feet hanging slightly over the edge. He kept the blanket wrapped around himself and fell almost immediately into a semi-doze as Russel smoothed it out as far as he could, trying not to jostle 2-D’s shoulder. Having not much else to do with his left hand, Russel brushed 2-D’s hair back a little, eliciting a sigh of contentment as 2-D relaxed and slipped more deeply into sleep.

His hair’s so damned soft, Russel thought with wonder.

 _Yeah?_ Del interjected.

Yeah. Almost baby-soft, Russel informed him. It’s weird, man. Downey. A bit dirty ‘cause he hasn’t washed it, but no wonder it sticks up all over the place. It’s got no weight to it.

Russel pondered its texture, curling it around his fingers.

He took a hit to the head when he was a kid, Russel proposed. It made his hair fall out and come back blue. You think it changed the weight too? Maybe killed off a protein or something?

 _Maybe,_ Del allowed. _Kid’s all kinds of weird. I mean, he’s got no business being as big as he is either._

Dropping the lock of hair and resting his arm across the back of the seat, Russel chuckled quietly to himself, briefly drawing Noodle’s attention. It did not take her long to turn back to her game and Russel pondered the difference between she and 2-D. Noodle’s personality could fill a room, and frequently did, in spite of her size. Not only young, but somewhat petite, Russel often referred to her as “compact”. It was the only word that seemed to fit the sheer amount of energy packed into her small frame.

2-D, by contrast, gave the impression of being small. He was self-effacing and relatively quiet in spite of anxious outbursts, although how much of this was due to personality and how much to spending his day largely sedated, Russel could not say. Nevertheless, he was continually startled by how… _big_ … 2-D actually was. He had hands broad enough to cover the top of Noodle’s head – laughingly calling it a “spider cap” – and no matter how skinny he was, being six-foot-two gave him a fair bit of masse. On more than one occasion, Russel had turned to talk to him only to find so much more… _him_ than expected.

Even now, he barely fit the space in which he slept, taking up the entire row.

“Just you and me, baby girl,” Russel told Noodle and winked at her when she looked up to let her know Del was in on it. “What’cha up to?”

She tried to describe her game to him in Japanese with Del giving him the gist in his head. Russel was still uncertain as to how Del could understand Noodle’s conversation, but had been told that things were different after death. It wasn’t so much that he translated as that he could read meaning and intent. He could not, for instance, understand an unfamiliar language being broadcast on television, but Noodle was near to them and cared for them, and projected her meaning as she spoke.

They chatted like this a while until Noodle’s attention was suddenly diverted. A moment later, the smell hit Russel as well and he felt his stomach growl in response.

Someone had brought fast food into the waiting room.

Likely as not they had run out to get it on behalf of a friend waiting for their name to be called. Concern, exasperation, and the need to clean up Murdoc’s mess had put the thought of food from Russel’s mind, but it had been a while since he had eaten and he was _hungry_. Noodle, too, he gathered, as she tracked the smell around the room. She had eaten some Goldfish, of course, but bite-sized crackers were not a meal. If she had been a bit older, he might have inquired as to what was nearby and sent her off on a snack run, but he was not about to let a seven-year-old run loose on her own in the hospital, no matter how capable she was, and he was loathe to leave or even wake 2-D, who seemed to have it rough enough as it was.

He should have known better, he supposed. If 2-D could have it rougher than it was, the universe would deliver.

2-D stirred, uttering a little moan at the smell of the food, and his body responded in kind, stomach rumbling. Russel half-thought 2-D would be sick, but realized the kid was as hungry as the rest of them when, barely awake, he whined sleepily in disappointment and pulled his blanket up closer to his face as though it could ward off the enticing scent. Russel stroked 2-D’s hair a few times, scratching his scalp to facilitate the transition back to dreams.

 _Not surprising, I guess,_ Del said from the depths of Russel’s mind. _There’s nothing wrong with him, just his throat. He probably feels like trash and it’s hard for him to swallow, but his body still needs fuel._

He makes it through this, he can have whatever he wants, Russel thought in return.

Russel supposed he could have let 2-D wake and left him on his own while he took Noodle for food, but thought better of it. Knowing 2-D was as hungry as they made the act seem cruel, even if 2-D himself was apt to cite Noodle’s age as a reason for Russel to feed her. Russel did not want to leave the kid on his own for too long in any case, but if leaving him to get food was bad, bringing it back to where he could see it and not eat it was even worse.

Noodle would be fine a little bit longer, Russel decided, and he certainly would not die if he missed a few meals. Better to leave 2-D to what little comfort sleep could offer.

In the end, Noodle proved more clever than Russel, taking out a juice box to drink with her Goldfish, followed by some granola bars and two apples. She offered the latter to him and he took one of each along with a bottle of water. It might not be much of a meal, but it was better than nothing, and Russel praised her for her foresight.

“Yeah!” Noodle agreed, and then added something in Japanese.

 _Some of it’s the same list she had earlier,_ Del said. _Can’t tell much about that except that it’s a list. The rest has a ‘don’t worry, I thought of everything’ kind of feel to it._

Can only wonder what else she came up with, Russel thought, biting into the apple.

Noodle did the same, putting her device and empty Goldfish bowl aside. She seemed to be playing a game with herself, examining the apple all over and taking bites of various sizes and intensity. She then looked around the waiting room as she chewed, taking in the sight of the people sitting around, uttering a little sigh as her eyes swept over the corner to which the person with the fast food had repaired, although she made no complaint. Once she had finished her apple, she pointed to a garbage can near the other end of the room and, at Russel’s nod, wandered over to throw away both her core and his before returning to her seat and pulling out a granola bar. They were the soft and chewy sort with bits of chocolate that she pried out and put into the empty snack bowl, eating them one by one when the rest of the granola was gone. She then made a second trip to the garbage can to dispose of their wrappers.

Russel watched the elaborate pantomime directly and indirectly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye when she became too restless under his stare. He could not help but smile. Kids, it seemed, could find the fun in anything.

Snack consumed, Noodle returned to her game. It was fortunate that she had brought it. It was nearly another hour before a nurse stepped out and called 2-D by name.

Russel signalled the nurse and nudged 2-D awake. He thought they were in for a repeat performance of the intake office when the nurse told him he would have to remain in the waiting room, but she nodded sympathetically when he explained that 2-D had trouble speaking.

“We don’t have a bed ready yet,” she told them. “This is a second-stage triage and the waiting room is not very large. In order to make room for as many patients as possible, we ask that family members remain in the waiting area unless the patient is a minor or is suffering a movement-impairing injury. I can make a note on the intake form, if you like, and someone will call for you when a bed has been assigned. The wait time is averaging about forty minutes.”

Russel told the nurse this was acceptable and gave 2-D’s right shoulder a reassuring pat. 2-D cast a nervous glance over his shoulder as the nurse led him away and Russel gave him a thumbs up sign that did not quite mitigate the effect of Noodle jumping up and down, waving, and shouting goodbyes in Japanese to the mixed annoyance and amusement of the other patients.

As soon as 2-D disappeared from sight beyond closed doors, she grabbed Russel’s hand and said something that he did not quite understand, but associated with mealtime as she pointed toward a hallway leading more deeply into the hospital.

“We’ll have a look, but it’s gotta be something fast,” Russel told her. “And we can’t leave the hospital. D’s not gonna wanna be on his own in there too long. We got less than an hour before they call him in.”

Noodle nodded her understanding and tugged him toward the corridor.

 _Her appetite’s almost as big as yours,_ Del teased.

Lay off, man. I’m big boned, Russel replied, and she’s a growing kid. Besides, she probably burns about a thousand calories an hour. If I had half that energy, I could have run us here in a handcart.

There was no fast food within the confines of the hospital, but there _was_ a cafeteria serving sandwiches and chips with relative speed. They ate on site, wandered back to the waiting room within the suggested time, and sat around for another fifteen minutes or so before a nurse approached them and told them 2-D was ready to speak with the doctor.

They found 2-D shirtless and shivering, sitting on the intake bed as a doctor took note of the bruises on his torso and prodded gently at his shoulder. Russel gave the doctor the spiel – how he had been away, how he had come back to find 2-D feverish, his throat infected and sore. He stepped lightly around 2-D’s injuries with the excuse that he had not been present, but that 2-D claimed they were from a fight. The doctor remained impassive as 2-D nodded to this, and then made a note in 2-D’s file.

“There’s not much to do for the bruising with how far along it is,” the doctor told them, “although a cold compress might relieve any lingering inflammation. I’ve already had a look at his throat,” he informed Russel before drawing 2-D back into the conversation. “I’ll give you a prescription for an antibiotic. Get it filled as soon as possible. Take two immediately, and then one in the morning and one in the evening until the prescription is used up. The _whole_ prescription. Don’t save any for later, even if you think you’re feeling better. The chemist will give you an information sheet with a few other details regarding interaction with foods and other drugs, but the important part is to complete the prescription. I’ll get you a sample pack for tonight’s dose. As to your shoulder…” The doctor gave a little shrug. “It looks like it might be strained and need a little re-alignment. I’ve called a colleague with chiropractic training to take a look at it while I grab the antibiotic sample. She should be here shortly.”

The doctor left then and Noodle settled herself down on the floor to continue playing her game. 2-D yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“You all right there, D?” Russel prodded.

2-D grinned wearily and nodded in reply, making a “so-so” motion with his hand, and finishing with a gesture Russel could not interpret, but that seemed to indicate gratitude.

Russel touched him reassuringly between the shoulder blades, and then looked up as a woman twitched the curtain aside and stepped into their enclosure.

He felt 2-D perk up immediately, his back straightening beneath Russel’s fingers, and, this time, Russel could not fault him for his interest. Good-looking though she was, the woman was more intense than beautiful, her eyes lively and intelligent. By the fine lines at their corners, Russel judged her to be older than he, perhaps nearing thirty, but of good humour and wit. Dark eyes, dark skin, and a broad, reassuring smile… She looked the way it felt to settle in near an open fire, book in hand.

 _She’s married,_ Del pointed out, the words tinged with amusement. _Don’t get lost in her eyes before you notice her ring._

I don’t have to own the Louvre to check out a work of art, Russel returned. It’s not like I’d have tried anything before I knew she was into it.

 _You wouldn’t have tried anything until she had gotten over thinking you weren’t interested,_ Del replied, and then fell silent, which suited Russel just fine.

Either 2-D had fewer compunctions than did Russel or he was simply overwhelmed by her looks because he all but quivered in place as the doctor looked over his chart.

“Dr. Rossi,” she said, and then glanced over the group, turning her attention to 2-D. “You’re 2-D?” she added by way of confirmation, receiving a perfunctory nod in reply. “Dr. Carmichael thinks I might need to re-align your shoulder for you. Do you mind if I have a look?”

2-D shook his head and nearly melted in ecstasy, curbed only by a twinge of pain, as Dr. Rossi manipulated his shoulder with firm, sure hands.

“Can you tell me a little bit about what happened to your shoulder?” she questioned.

“Fight,” 2-D whispered, only to have Noodle shush him from the floor. Russel waved her into silence, winking at her to let her know it was not her fault, merely the situation they were currently in. “Other bloke pulled my arm back.”

He tried to demonstrate and winced.

“It’s all right. You don’t have to show me,” Dr. Rossi told him. “No need to make it any worse. I just wanted an idea of the direction of the stress. Now, you might feel a little discomfort. Are you ready?”

2-D nodded, and then yelped and grabbed for Russel’s hand as Dr. Rossi gave his shoulder a short, sharp yank. Russel let 2-D cling a little although his face registered nothing but relief once the deed was done.

“Good show,” Dr. Rossi said, and gave 2-D’s arm a little pat. “Are you feeling all right?”

2-D nodded and she made a mark on his chart.

“You should put a cold pack on it over the next couple of days – ten minutes on and at least twenty minutes off – as you are able,” she said. “I’ll give Dr. Carmichael a sheet of exercises that you can to do to stay limber. You don’t want to overwork your shoulder, but you don’t want it to seize up either.”

“Thank you,” Russel told her on 2-D’s behalf before he could strain his voice any further. 2-D nodded his agreement, offering her a little smile and the most gooey, adoring puppy dog eyes Russel had ever had the misfortune to witness.

Subtlety is not his strong point, he thought.

Del responded with the spirit world’s equivalent of a snort.

 _Like you weren’t mooning over her a second ago,_ he said. _Leave him be. He’s not coming on to her. She even seems to think it’s kinda cute, as long as he’s keeping his hands to himself. That’s one thing about D. He’s pretty harmless and people know he’s harmless. You can smell his intentions like it’s cologne or something._

2-D sat morose, toying with his fingers, when Dr. Rossi left them to see her next patient. He smiled a little when Dr. Carmichael returned, but the expression was sad and wistful. If Dr. Carmichael noticed it, he had the good grace not to mention it.

“I see Dr. Rossi has done her magic,” he said instead. “I picked up the sheets she requested as well as your prescription and a sample pack—“

“I’ll hang on to them,” Russel said and held out his hand to take them. When 2-D nodded, Dr. Carmichael passed them into Russel’s care. “We’ll hit up the chemist on the way out.”

“Well, there should be enough there to take two tonight, one tomorrow morning, and one tomorrow evening, if there’s a wait,” Dr. Carmichael said. “Remember, take the entire prescription on top of the samples I’ve given you. The chemist should give you a detailed list, but if you experience any negative reactions, stop taking them and consult a physician immediately. Apart from that, you’re free to go. Once you’re ready to leave, turn right and use the exit at the end of the room. It will lead you to the main hallway rather than having to pass back through the waiting area.”

“Thanks,” Russel told him and waited until Dr. Carmichael left them to ask Noodle for a bottle of water. “You’re gonna take the first two right now, aight? Might as well get a jump on this.”

2-D nodded and waited patiently as Russel fumbled two pills out of the blister pack and dropped them into his hand. He popped them in his mouth and followed them up with a mouthful of water from the bottle, nearly choking as he swallowed. 

“You all right there, D?” Russel prompted, rubbing his back. “Hurts?”

2-D nodded and rubbed his throat to indicate that, while it might have hurt, he did manage to swallow the pills.

“Good job,” Russel told him and took his water bottle before he could hand it back to Noodle. “We’re gonna keep this one separate, so no one else drinks from it and gets whatever you got.”

2-D nodded again and sighed, eyes half-closed.

Sleepy, Russel thought, and why not? He was already ill, and now he had spent an unusually long time waiting in a public space. Russel felt it as well, and even Noodle looked ready for a nap, although any suggestion that she should rest would be met with resistance in an act of pure defiance.

“One last stop and we can go home,” Russel assured him.

2-D rallied and managed to stay alert long enough to stop by the chemist’s, propping himself up in one of the two chairs thoughtfully provided for customers. Noodle took the other, chattering at 2-D in Japanese, and patting his arm when his attention drifted. Russel could not tell if she was keeping him awake on purpose, or simply in a mood to talk, but he appreciated her effort. When the script was finally ready, it was much easier to transfer 2-D back into the vehicle, where he dozed until they arrived at the studio.

Russel piloted 2-D to his bedroom and coaxed him out of his shirt and jeans, dumping him between the sheets instead of allowing him to collapse on top of the blankets. Noodle hovered around, scolding 2-D when he resisted. She seemed concerned in spite of her bravado and 2-D patted her on the head, smiling sleepily before falling back into his pillows and allowing Russel to pull the blankets over him.

“Come on, baby girl,” Russel told Noodle, ushering her out of 2-D’s room and closing the door behind them. “D’ll be fine now that he’s been to the doctor’s. He just needs to sleep. And so do you,” he added when Noodle yawned hugely.

Noodle cast another glance back at 2-D’s door, but did not argue. It was getting late and had been a long day for a little girl.

Russel helped Noodle get ready for bed and took her backpack from her, assuring her he would empty it out and make it clean for the next day. He thanked her for her help and her patience at the hospital. He waited until she selected her soft toy for the evening, settled into bed, and was half asleep before he left the room and headed down toward the kitchen.

It was on the way there that he met Murdoc again.

“Where the bloody Hell have you lot been?” Murdoc demanded, no less drunk or bad-humoured than when Russel had first greeted him. “I’ve been shouting the walls down with nary an answer and when I go looking you’ve all pissed off.”

“We took D to the hospital,” Russel huffed. He had had about enough of Murdoc and was not in the mood for fighting, but if Murdoc insisted on making a nuisance of himself, then a fight was what he would get. “You know, where _you_ should have taken him in the first place.”

Murdoc snorted.

“For what? Bruising? The bloody idiot’s had worse.”

“No, the infection.”

A look of genuine confusion spread across Murdoc’s face and Russel nearly believed that he had no idea 2-D was sick. Was Murdoc really so drunk as to not remember beating 2-D when he asked for help?

 _D never said that,_ Dell reminded him. _You thought it ‘cause he was so eager to go to the hospital. I thought it too. But the only thing D ever said was that it was a fight._

“You don’t know he has a throat infection?” Russel said, easing up on his anger, at least for the moment. There were a lot of things about Murdoc that just weren’t right, but it was useless to be angry about things that had not happened.

“No,” Murdoc replied. He did not sound concerned, nor did he sound annoyed. He was simply bemused. “He never said.”

“You knew he had a cold when I left,” Russel pressed.

“What’s a cold?” Murdoc returned, his face twisted in disgust. “Is every cold you get an infection? Stupid git. Rather ruin his voice than see a doctor. Not even a thought for the rest of the band. I’ll give him whatfor—“

“No, you won’t,” Russel informed him. There was obviously more to unpack than he was aware of, but there was no sense worrying about it now. “D’s out cold. He needs to sleep. Needs it bad. And you’re not gonna wake him. He can’t talk anyway… his throat’s a wreck.”

Murdoc snorted, but saw the thunderclouds in Russel’s eyes and seemed to think better of challenging him.

Russel pressed on.

“I’m not done with _you_ either. There’s no call for the marks on D, but at least he’s an adult. Noodle’s just a kid. She’s depending on us. You can’t just leave her to fend for herself.”

“Noodle’s smart—“

“She’s a little girl!”

Russel felt Del touch the back of his mind, reminding him of the time, and sighed.

“She’s a little girl, but it’s too damned late to get into it now. I’ll see both of you in the morning.”

“I thought he was playing with her,” Murdoc sulked. “I didn’t know he was ill.”

“Tomorrow,” Russel repeated, waving him off and heading for his own room. Murdoc did not pursue him or the argument, which was both a relief and an annoyance. Russel would have preferred to have it out with the bass player then and there to sort out his feelings and see justice done. Murdoc’s confusion only complicated matters, leaving the interaction unresolved.

 _You’ve done your best,_ Del assured him. _It’s all you can do._

Maybe so, Russel thought, but all he could do seldom felt like enough.

It was nearly noon before he saw 2-D again, slinking into the kitchen like a guilty child, shower-damp and mussy.

“Hey, D,” Russel greeted him. “You sleep all right?”

“Um… yeah,” 2-D replied. His voice was still weak, but lacked the roughness of the night before.

“Murdoc didn’t wake you up?”

“Um… no.”

“How’s the throat?

“Oh… loads better.” 2-D twisted his fingers, smiling almost shyly. “Thanks for takin’ me to the doctor. I dun like ‘em, not really, but it hurt so bad…”

“I’m glad it helped,” Russel told him. “You take your pill this morning?”

“Yeah. I took a sample one. It wan’t so hard to swallow today,” 2-D said brightly. “I’s almost completely diff’rent, really. Still hurts some, but not like before. I…”

He looked sheepish as his stomach growled. Russel couldn’t help grinning in reply.

“You’re hungry?” he ventured.

“Yeah,” 2-D agreed. “Only… I dunno what I should eat. I think some stuff might still be rough.”

“I can make you an omelette, if you want,” Russel offered, taking out some eggs as 2-D immediately perked up. “They should be soft enough and the protein’ll be good for you.”

“A’right. Thank you,” 2-D said, still sheepish and faintly blushing. He settled in at the table as Russel went about the business of cooking.

“It’s no thing,” Russel told him. “It’ll give me a chance to talk to you. If you need to keep your answers short to give your throat a rest, that’s fine.”

Short answers would also keep 2-D from rambling, or so Russel hoped. When 2-D gave him a tentative nod, Russel began.

“The day I found you in the hall with Noodle,” he said, fishing for a pan, “was the day after I got back from New York. Where were you all that time?”

“Cinema.”

“I checked the cinema, but didn’t see anyone there.”

“Was inna front row. Fell asleep.”

 _Makes sense,_ Del said, rising from the back of Russel’s mind. _You can kick up the arm rests. If he was lying down, you wouldn’t see him. We didn’t do a very careful sweep._

No, Russel thought. And if the digital system was in use, rather than the projector, the screen wouldn’t idle. It would fade to matte black.

“How long were you there, D?”

“Uh… dunno really,” 2-D said, picking at his fingers. “Night before you were supposed to come back? Not all night. Just…”

Russel waited a moment as he whisked up the eggs to make sure 2-D had trailed off and he would not be interrupting.

“Couldn’t sleep and wandered in there?”

“No. Yeah? I dunno,” 2-D said. “Din’t feel good. I was sleepy, but… I thought if there was lights and noise and stuff that din’t matter, I could sleep.”

“Yeah, I been there. Sometimes you can’t turn your brain off, huh?”

“Yeah,” 2-D agreed sadly.

“Did you ask Murdoc to take you to the doctor’s if you were feeling sick?”

“No.”

This time, 2-D’s voice was muffled, tinged with shame, and Russel looked over to see that the singer had folded his arms on the table, half-burying his face in them. 

“Why not?” Russel prodded gently.

“Fight,” came 2-D’s muffled reply. “I was scared!”

“You two fight all the time,” Russel pointed out. “Why were you scared?”

“I hit him,” 2-D admitted. “I dun usually do that. He din’t like it.”

“So he hit back,” Russel said, a statement, not a question.

“An’ I hit him back,” 2-D agreed.

Russel let it end there. Murdoc was not the sort of person to stand for anyone taking a swing at him, no matter how ineffective it was. If 2-D had hit him, he would hit back. If 2-D hit him more than once…

 _He hit back harder, faster, and more often,_ Del finished for him.

“Why did you hit him anyway?” Russel said instead. “Like you said, it’s not something you usually do.”

“Went spare,” 2-D said. “Shunt’a, but I did. He kept sayin’ things…”

“What about?” Russel prodded when 2-D did not elaborate.

2-D sat up straight, stretching out, and then slumped back in his chair, picking at his fingers again.

“P-Paula,” he said.

 _Keep it steady,_ Del advised him as Russel felt his blood pressure skyrocket. _That pan is red hot._

Why the Hell would Murdoc feel the need to bring that up? Russel thought in return.

_Doesn’t matter, man. That’s not what this is about._

Del was right. Murdoc’s assholery was not what the conversation was about.

“Where was Noodle in all of this?” Russel said instead.

“Um…” 2-D said, brow furrowed in thought. “Bed. It was at night. I dun think we woke her. I din’t see her. I din’t look though. I just… I just wanted to lie down.”

“I’ll bet,” Russel soothed. From the state of 2-D’s bruises, the fight had probably happened two or three days before he was found. If he spent at least half a day in the cinema, that left another day or two unaccounted for. “Was your throat hurting at the time you fought?”

“A bit, but I thought it was a cough.”

2-D’s voice was already sounding rough, so Russel paused in his cooking to pour him a glass of water, which he received gratefully.

“I mean, it hurt enough that it was hard to eat, but it wan’t too hard to swallow regular-like,” 2-D continued after a drink, “but then it hurt more and I was scared, like I said.”

“So who was taking care of Noodle the day after the fight?”

“Uh… I dunno. Murdoc, I thought,” 2-D said, nervous now. “I made tea inna morning an’ she came in an’ I gave her juice an’ porridge. The quick-stuff ‘cause I din’t feel good. An’ she had an apple an’ went to watch cartoons. Murdoc was in there, so I din’t want to go. He was asleep inna chair, but I still din’t want to an’ told Noodle I was gonna lie down again. I dunno if she understood me. I thought she did.”

“Yeah, all right,” Russel said, sighing inwardly.

He plated up the omelette and put it on the table before 2-D with a fork, refilling his water glass. 2-D poked at his breakfast, looking pained and nervous, hardly daring to take a bite.

“Go on,” Russel encouraged him. “It won’t bite. And I’m not mad, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. Worried, maybe, but not mad. She’s just a kid, man. Someone should have been looking out for her, but Murdoc didn’t even know where she was when I got in and no one could find you. I get you were sick,” Russel insisted when worry threatened to overwhelm 2-D once again, “and you couldn’t help that, but you could have let Murdoc know you were going to lie down, even if you were too scared to ask for help. Not that he’s any better,” Russel sighed. “He knows Noodle’s running around loose in here. He should know enough to keep an eye on her if no one else is around.”

 _He should know well enough not to taunt people into a fight for no reason,_ Del added, but Russel did not say.

“It’s just tiring, you know?” he said instead. “I mean, there’s three of us, but it’s like I gotta do all the planning. Which I can’t do if my family’s overseas, man. I’ve got to go and visit sometimes. Noodle needs people looking out for her when I’m gone.”

“I… I would’a…” 2-D stammered as he prodded at the omelette. Although he had taken a couple of bites, he seemed unable to force himself to take more.

Would have smoked weed and zoned out in front of movies, Russel thought uncharitably.

 _That ain't so bad,_ Del said. _At least Noodle’d know where to find him. Go easy, man. He’s all of twenty._

I’m all of twenty-three, Russel countered. Murdoc’s a decade more. Why do I have to be the adult?

 _That’s unfair,_ Del agreed, _but the one you’re dumping this on spent his growin’ up time unconscious. He was sick and antagonized while you were gone and there’s nothing he can do about that now._

“It’s cool, D,” Russel said, disguising his internal conversation with a pat on 2-D’s shoulder. “I mean, not in general, but this time. You didn’t know you were gonna get sick and Noodle’s all right. Just… you know… maybe next time grow a pair if you need help keeping an eye on her. I’ll give Murdoc Hell later,” he added when 2-D nodded his tentative agreement. “Right now, you just focus on getting better and getting some food in you. I’m back and ready to work, but we need a singer if we’re gonna pull this off.”

2-D nodded again, looking miserable as he cut sections from his omelette, but he brightened when an enthusiastic squeal announced Noodle’s arrival in advance of her bursting through the door.

“Swear jar!” she declared, plunking a capped glass jar on the table.

“Ah, shit,” Russel said and grinned when Noodle’s eyes widened and she waved the jar at him. “I guess I forgot to top it up, huh? Gimme a sec to find some money, aight?”

“I dun think you’re supposed to swear just to give her money,” 2-D said, amused and mildly scandalized.

Russel sighed inwardly, wondered whether 2-D was as serious as he sounded or simply bad at humour, and then shrugged the whole thing off. The kid was smiling again and that was all that mattered for the moment.

“You’re right, but I still owe her,” Russel said instead, fishing the money out of his pocket and slotting it into the hole cut into the top of Noodle’s jar. “You want some eggs for lunch, Noodle? 2-D’s got an omelette.”

“Omurice!” Noodle told him.

“Can’t make that until we do the shop,” Russel told her. “We’re out of rice and the cupboards are almost bare. I can make an omelette with cheese though.”

“Yeah!” Noodle agreed. “Arigatou gozaimasu!”

“Why don’t you go see Murdoc while I make it?” Russel told her. “I’m sure he’ll have some money for you if you wake him up.”

The look on 2-D’s face as Noodle agreed and rushed off was priceless.

“I figure he owes us both at this point,” Russel said and matched 2-D’s grin as understanding dawned in the singer’s eyes. “He won’t touch her, but it’ll be a joy to listen to him. Now, eat your eggs. They’ll get cold.”

“You’re awful,” 2-D approved and took a bite.


End file.
